


When He Thought It Was Over

by GleeklaineJonas



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, I Love You, M/M, Twisted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 10:15:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2808764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GleeklaineJonas/pseuds/GleeklaineJonas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oscar knew that he wasn’t the best football player on the planet, knew that he wasn’t the hottest guy around, but Neymar… He thought Neymar had liked him, was proud to have him as a boyfriend. What was the point of being together, of being with one another if…?</p>
            </blockquote>





	When He Thought It Was Over

**Author's Note:**

> so much love and thanks to the amazing beta [facade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/facade) who made this waaay more amazing than it orginally is : )

He was exhausted and it was possible that he would collapse to the earth within any given moment, without any form of a warning but with plenty of reasons. The heat of the sun was unbearable against his skin that day and, though the scourge of the English sun was nothing comparable to the intense heat of the Brazilian sun, no one with any sense of sanity enjoyed running beneath the unrelenting ball of fire – no one.

 

Sure he should have been used to it by now, the intense heat mixing with intense training sessions, but the coach was making them put in some extra time on the pitch, making them endure some extra training exercises in preparation for the game next week. While his internalized complaints of the heat and exhaustion weren’t for naught, he knew that he would be grateful and that this would all be worth it when they picked up those three points next week.

 

Drill after drill, he ran back and forth, up and down the pitch, weaving in and around agility posts… until his strength failed him, until his stamina was flirting with depletion, until the only thing pushing him forward was the comforting thought of home, the thought of cuddling into the warm embrace of his boyfriend.  

 

He smiled as he pulled into the drive, his thought of home forming out from within his mind into his line of sight. He practically fell through the door of his home as he turned the handle and stumbled inside while silently cursing his worn body, forgetting his profanities as he found himself greeted by the sight of his dark-skinned boyfriend lazily sprawled out on the sofa, controller in hand as images from FIFA filled the screen of his television.

 

“Hi, babe,” Neymar called out as he heard the other man closing the door, eyes still glued on the television screen before him, “how did practice go?”

 

“I would say it was exhausting but the truth of the matter is that I’m surprised that I made it out of there alive,” Oscar sighed out as he collapsed on the sofa, his legs turning to mush as he finally relieved them of the weight of himself. “The coach made us put in more of an effort today, made us run a few extra drills at a higher intensity.” He could feel Neymar throwing his feet onto his lap and instinctively reached out, rubbing soothing circles into them as he asked the other man, “How is your ankle feeling?” He ran his fingers against the sides of the other’s foot and started gently pressing on the muscles surrounding the afflicted ankle in question. Oscar had shuddered when he had heard that Neymar had hurt himself during practice and it had taken every ounce of his charm to convince the medical team to allow Neymar to take up recovery at his house.

 

“Uhm, it’s getting better,” Neymar sighed out as he allowed his eyes to flutter to a close, clearly enjoying the sensations of the massage.

 

They shared a few moments of comfortable silence before Oscar’s thoughts took the better of him. “You should, uh, you should come with me to practice tomorrow,” he blurted out, casting his focus back on the features of the other Brazilian.

 

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Neymar quickly answered as his irises found light again, his attentions focusing back on the game of FIFA he had been playing.

 

“…and why not?” Oscar pressed quietly, fingers still gently playing with the feet of the other man.

 

Neymar raised his eyebrows in partial amusement but shook his head. “Hmm, I don’t know,” Neymar breathily chuckled out, his words dripping with lite sarcasm. “Maybe there will be Chelsea fans there as it is a – I don’t know? – a Chelsea training session? Come on, Oscar. You know everybody there would be wondering what the hell I’m doing at Cobham,” Neymar finished, his voice becoming lower and lower as he finished vocalizing his thoughts until he was mumbling the last of his words.

 

“We can just tell them that you came out to visit me,” Oscar offered as if the answer was so simple …and it was, unless Neymar didn’t want anyone to know that they were together, that they were dating.

 

“I don’t know,” Neymar started, shifting awkwardly as he suddenly took a heavier interest in the minor details of the game on the screen, “some people might… They might think something.” Neymar mumbled out, the awkward feeling within him reaching into his voice.

 

“You mean like, some people may think that you and I are together?” Oscar challenged as he lifted one of his eyebrows, head tilted to the side in disbelief.

 

“Yeah, something like that,” Neymar muttered out, eyes trying to locate every different pixel of color on the television screen now.

 

He couldn’t help but to concede himself to the hurt he felt building up from within himself. Oscar knew that he wasn’t the best football player on the planet, knew that he wasn’t the hottest guy around, but Neymar… He thought Neymar had liked him, was proud to have him as a boyfriend. What was the point of being together, of being with one another if…?

 

His thoughts trailed as another option presented itself: perhaps Neymar wanted this – them – to come to an end? Maybe Neymar was thinking about calling it quits on their relationship? In those respects, he understood why Neymar wouldn’t want to show his face at Cobham; why go through all of the drama, why throw yourself at the mercy of the hellish English media if you had no intention of seeing things through? Why go to the circus, or even bring the circus to you, if you only plan on staying for the first two acts? It would explain why he had agreed to come here, why Neymar had been okay with coming out to England for his recovery. He was probably going to take Oscar out to one of those fancy restaurants, one out of the public eye, order his favorite food and then serve him a dessert of broken hopes.

 

He was hit and pulled under by a sudden wave, a bang of sadness; he was at the verge of tears and his vision was starting to blur but he didn’t want Neymar to see him crying, he didn’t want Neymar to see him hurt and vulnerable. He drew in a large breath of air and cleared his throat, made sure his voice wouldn’t betray him and crack as he forced the next sentence out of his mouth. “You know I’m, I’m extremely exhausted… I think I’ll just… I should just go to bed,” he vocalized as he found his feet and started to head up the stairs to his bedroom.

 

He just wanted to sleep, he truly did. Physically, that’s all he wanted to do but his emotions had other plans; as soon as he had entered through the frame of the bedroom door, his tears fell without hindrance and brought his body movements down to little more than violent tremors. He choked down his sobs and turned his face into the pillow as he attempted to keep himself as quiet as possible.  

 

* * *

 

The day must have been as tired as he had been because by the time Oscar had opened up his eyes, it had already passed and the rays of a revived sun were already streaming through the glass of the window, but their warmth was overpowered by the heat of the warm body lying next to him. (Neymar), he realized as all of his thoughts from the day before came rushing back to him, like waves crashing against a rocky beach shore on a stormy day. That wave of sadness, that bang of sudden emotion rushed over him again, pulled him back under, but not far enough for him to break down into tears again.

 

He carefully pushed the covers of the bed off of himself and quietly climbed out of the bed, doing his best to stay silent as the other man was still snoozing peacefully beside him. He dressed in silence and headed to training despite the time, it was ridiculously early but he figured that being there would be better than staying at home within the moment.

 

Drill after drill, he ran back and forth, up and down the pitch, weaving in and around agility posts… until his strength failed him, until his stamina was flirting with depletion, until the only thing pushing him forward was the acceptance that this would probably be all he had left by the time Neymar returned to Spain. So he pushed harder.

 

He came home later that day to find Neymar lying on the sofa, doing the same thing he had been doing the day before: FIFA plastered on the television screen, controller in hand.

 

“Hey,” Neymar called out over his shoulder, his fingers jamming against the PS buttons at an incredible rate as he acknowledged the other, “I just heard about this amazing restaurant in the area! We should definitely go by and check it out. I was thinking that we could go on Monday or something.”

 

(Oh God. Not a fancy restaurant. This is not happening. This isn’t…) “Oh, Monday? Crap. I don’t think that’ll work. I mean… I can’t. I kind of promised Andre that I would go over to his house on Monday, get into a game of…” he glanced at the vibrant colors on the television screen and shook his head, making a hasty game decision, “FIFA with him.” He shifted his weight nervously, from one foot to the other, hoping that Neymar would be too distracted by his own game to see through the lie.

 

“You see him all of the time,” Neymar replied, his voice dripping with irritation and something else that couldn’t be placed. He actually sounded a little pissed off with the plans. “Can’t the two of you reschedule or something? I’m supposed to be leaving next Friday and…”

 

“Uhm, we can go on Tuesday,” Oscar blurted out in spite of himself. Even though he was certain that Neymar was considering this as an opportunity to call things off with him, he still cared for Neymar …he still wanted Neymar to feel important and cared for by him and wanted to spend time with Neymar …he still loved the guy. (Wait… Wait. What…?) The realization hit Oscar like a hard slap in the face, like an ice cold bucket of water being poured over his head. (I love Neymar? I love Neymar) He loved Neymar and, as he was the master of timing, it was a fucking wonderful time for him to have realized it. (Brilliant).

 

“Alright, Tuesday it is,” Neymar agreed as he pressed the pause button on his controller and looked over at the Blue with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Maybe right now, you and I could spend some more time in the bed?” Neymar suggested with a smirk accompanied by the wriggling of his eyebrows. “I can’t help but feel as if you and I have been neglecting that bed.”

 

“What about, what about your ankle?” Oscar stuttered out though his thoughts were nowhere near Neymar’s ankle within the moment.

 

“There’s nothing special that has to be done with it, Oscar. It won’t hold me back from doing any of things I want to do with you,” Neymar responded with a blinding smile, a sultry look held within his irises, “to you”.

 

(Dinner. Tuesday). "I'll, uh, I’ll wait for you upstairs," Oscar stammered out as he ran up the stairs, nearly tripping over a few of them in his haste. He knew that this could potentially do more harm than good but he was only agreeing to this because it may very well be the last time they have sex before Tuesday.

* * *

 

It was Tuesday before Oscar knew it. It was Tuesday before Oscar was ready for it. He was in his best suit, sitting in the seat just beside Neymar as they made their way to the restaurant. It felt as if they were going on their first date, at least it did to Oscar who was breaking into a nervous sweat and anxiously chewing on the insides of his cheeks.

 

He remembered that day perfectly, their first date. He and Neymar, they were just friends at the time, friends with benefits that is but friends nonetheless. They had only been seeing one another on the odd international breaks throughout the year which weren’t often enough to build anything meaningful out of… Until the one time after when Neymar had confessed that he didn’t like things going as they had been between them. Neymar was the one who had wanted to advance their relationship, was the one who had suggested that they be exclusive with one another. He had even gone on to use the words “I don’t want to share you with anyone, Oscar” in that exact order.

 

Neymar’s voice broke through Oscar’s memory and grounded him back into the present. “Alright,” he sighed out as he threw the car into park and unstrapped himself from the seat, “We’re here.”

 

The lights were low and dim inside, casting a dark yellow hue on the room and all of its current occupants, and it was peaceful, quiet for the most part. Oscar could easily pick out the clattering sounds of knives and forks scraping against fine plates, could hear the occasional mumbles of delightful conversation from the other patrons who were already seated at the round, white tables of the restaurant, and he couldn’t help but smile at how nice everything seemed to be in here. He found there to be two candles expertly placed on each of the tables, two plates in each place setting, two place settings resting opposite of one another with knives and spoons properly placed on the right, forks of different varieties to the left, and he furrowed his brows for a brief moment in deep thought. (One of them is the salad fork. Which one is the salad fork? Hell, I’m just going to use the biggest fork… for everything).

 

Neymar mumbled their reservations over to the hostess and smiled as a pretty, blonde waitress led them to one of the tables near the back of the restaurant. Thankfully, everyone else within the restaurant seemed to be too caught up within their food or within lite conversations to have even noticed that they had walked in.

 

The conversation and the food went smoothly throughout the duration of the evening and the dessert, the dessert had been divine. Oscar’s face had been plastered with an unwavering smile since he had taken his seat and he had been enjoying himself so much that he had nearly forgotten the reason why they were there, or the reason that he had supposed for them to be there. He swallowed down his fears and started opening his mouth to speak, his dare for Neymar to just ‘do it’ and ‘get it over with’ dancing on the tip of his tongue…

 

…but Neymar started to speak before the words ever materialized. “I love you,” he breathed out effortlessly, his voice overflowing with his love and admiration for the man sitting across from him.

 

Oscar closed his mouth in disbelief and searched the hazel eyes of the striker, looking for the lie, for any traces of his being misled but all he found within them was evidence of what he had just heard within Neymar’s voice. “Wh-what?” Oscar stammered out as he found himself drowning in disbelief of the situation. He thought that he loved Neymar, too… but, but Neymar was supposed to be here to end their relationship. He was sure of it, had prepared himself for it.

 

“Uh,” Neymar breathed out, his exhales as shaky as his hands seemed to be. “I mean…” he started to back track as he nervously looked from the tablecloth to Oscar’s eyes and back again, doubtful that the other man returned the sentiment. For a moment, he hated himself for having told him, hated himself for not having locked away the confession for a better time, a better place, or even…

 

…but before Neymar could dare to consider taking back the three words any further, because Oscar was certain that’s what Neymar was doing within the moment as the striker’s panic was evident within his features, he reached out and grabbed the dark-skinned boy’s hand from across the table and wrapped his fingers firmly around it. He found those hazel eyes with his own and whispered his “I love you, too.”

 

In that moment, that moment of relief and joy, Neymar looked happier than Oscar had ever seen him before, his elation filtering through that rare yet beautiful smile reserved for only those closest to him. And if you were to look into his hazel eyes, you would find that pure mixture of his happiness, of his love, painted so vividly, so loudly within his soul. “How about we get the hell out of here,” Neymar suggested, never once pulling his eyes away from the beautiful man sitting before him.

 

“I’m right behind you. Consider me already gone,” Oscar responded as he fell even further into the striker. He had prepared himself for the worst, had pushed this night off and had even dreaded it… Only for the night to turn into the best night of his life, a night worth remembering, one that wouldn’t soon be forgotten.

 


End file.
